


Demoted

by bigblueboxat221b



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Demoted Angel, Don't copy to another site, Human Crowley (Good Omens), M/M, Pre-Armageddon, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-05-19 12:50:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19357375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigblueboxat221b/pseuds/bigblueboxat221b
Summary: When Heaven catches wind of Aziraphale's 'fraternising' with Crowley they must discipline him. With the Antichrist on Earth and Armageddon imminent, the last thing Heaven wants to do is to lose an experienced angel to Hell. Instead they demote Aziraphale to the lowest order of angels - the Guardians.Crowley, dobbed in by Heaven for his friendship with the angel, is also in trouble. How do you further discipline an angel when they've already Fallen? Send him up to Earth. Neither mortal nor demonic, and without his only friend, how will Crowley make it through Armageddon?





	1. Chapter 1

Aziraphale blinked, the light bright against his eyes. It had been night, he thought. And now it was…day? The suddenness with which he’d been pulled away from Earth was disorienting, and he looked around, wondering where he had been before here. Somewhere with a body, he mused, whereas now he felt the slight intangibility of having no corporeal form; it was strange after so many years on Earth. He was used to having a body now. A specific one, at that.

“Aziraphale,” the voice was familiar, as was the disappointment laced through it.

_Gabriel._

I must be in Heaven.

The phrase almost made him smile – being in a room with Gabriel was hardly his idea of heaven, and yet it was likely he was literally in the place called Heaven if the Archangel was there. Gabriel rarely ventured down to Earth unless it was absolutely necessary. In his eyes, Earth was almost as bad as Hell.

“Hello,” Aziraphale tried. His throat was dry; he swallowed. Being yanked back to Heaven was rough on the celestial body. He shook his wings a little, not wanting to spread them completely here in this lower level, but needing to settle himself. He blinked again, trying to remember where he’d been before this. What _had_ he been doing?

“How nice of you to join us,” Gabriel said, the sarcasm coating his words like honey. He rarely spoke nicely to Aziraphale; along with a wide, fake grin, it was his default position. Aziraphale wondered, as he watched Gabriel interact with others, if there was anything sincere about him at all. He was intelligent and watchful, and the combination made for someone who rarely showed his true face – at least, not in front of Aziraphale.

Given their respective positions in Heaven – he, a Principality, was technically senior to the Archangel – Aziraphale always felt that Gabriel could have been a little more respectful. Respect was not something Gabriel tended to show to others. He collected angels like humans collected baseball cards; an enforcer here, a sycophant there. People around him to make him stronger, carefully selected to be junior or otherwise weaker than he. In his own fishpond, Gabriel was a whale, and he intended to keep it that way.

Aziraphale was merely an aberration. A Principality, but to Gabriel’s mind, Aziraphale was an inferior angel. What kind of an angel volunteers to go out and spend the entire lifetime of the Earth actually down there? Talking to humans, living among them… Gabriel made it clear he could not imagine anything worse. The difference between them was a chasm that would never be crossed, so Aziraphale simply ignored the boorish behaviour. He instead chose polite, impersonal conversation, as professional and brief as possible. Gabriel could be a dangerous enemy, should Aziraphale want to engage him, and he certainly did not.

“I wasn’t aware you wanted to see me,” Aziraphale said. The room had come into focus; Gabriel was not alone. Aziraphale recognised Uriel and Sandelphon, subordinates of Gabriel; the Archangel Michael was also there, as was an angel he did not recognise. “A message would have been sufficient.” _What was I doing before I was here?_

“Much as we enjoy waiting around for you to fit us into your busy schedule,” Gabriel said, “this matter could not be put off.” His lavender eyes glittered with dislike.

A frisson of fear skittered down Aziraphale’s spine. There was nothing urgent going on at the moment, nothing that warranted such prompt attention. The Antichrist was years away from coming into his power; everyone was essentially in their holding pattern until the child’s eleventh birthday. Apart from the occasional report about how things were progressing, he had little contact with Heaven at the moment.

It could not be good that he’d been summarily discorporated.

“I’m sorry, I don’t believe we’ve met,” Aziraphale said, turning to the unfamiliar angel with a smile. “I’m the Principality Aziraphale.”

“Oh, haven’t we introduced you?” Gabriel made a show of turning to his right, a flourish indicating each party. “Aziraphale, this is Metatron, the voice of God.”

The skitter of fear blossomed, reaching cold fingers out along his spine. Aziraphale tried for a smile, but he knew it failed him. If the voice of God was here, that meant the Almighty had been consulted, and had something to say. Something formal, if Metatron was speaking; their voice could be heard by all angels, as the Word was intended to instruct hosts of angels at a time.

There was only one thing – one choice in Aziraphale’s whole existence on Earth – that could justify such a serious impromptu meeting, and such a smug expression on Gabriel’s face.

Crowley.

Aziraphale swallowed hard. “So what say you, Metatron?” he asked, tempering the words with a smile.

“Aziraphale, you are to be stripped of the rank of Principality and demoted to the lowest rank of angels, the Guardians.” Aziraphale’s heart – still beating hard, a habit it was difficult to break – thundered in his insubstantial chest. “Your corporeal body is forfeit.” He saw Gabriel smiling triumphantly as Metatron concluded, “Report to the Leader of the Guardians for your assignment.”

“Praise be to God,” the rest repeated in chorus.

“Praise be to God,” Aziraphale echoed faintly.

***

In Hell, Crowley sighed, reaching up to take off his sunglasses. Hardly needed them here, not in a crowded room of demons. Not only was it far too dark, but his eyes bore no interest to the others. There was no doubt as to where he was; there literally was nowhere on Earth that sounded or smelled the same. He scowled at someone as they bumped him, enjoying the look of terror as they scuttled off.

A new arrival, then. Still too junior to look any different to the humans above; that kind of change took time. Or a demon inside you, one or the other.

Shaking his head a little, Crowley looked around. It was noisier than usual down here. More bodies than ever pressed together, and he felt himself shrink away from the touch, from the oppressive stink of so many bodies. He knew it wasn’t supposed to be pleasant, but seriously, a rethink of the working conditions down here wouldn’t go astray. No wonder he preferred Earth to this.

“Demon Crowley,” a voice intoned, and he turned, eyes wide as he recognised the trio of faces before him.

“Lord Beelzebub,” he replied, dipping into an approximation of a bow. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I hope it wasn’t a pleasure, being dragged down here,” Beelzebub replied, their voice flat and lifeless. “Hardly meant to be a nice experience.”

“Poor choice of words, my Lord,” Crowley said, his brain sniggering at the level of toadying he was currently trying on. As his body relaxed into its customary lazy pose, his eyes were taking in as much as possible. He needed to figure out what the Heaven was going on here.

Beelzebub was standing on a low platform, beside Hastur and Ligur, both of whom bore expressions of grim satisfaction. Not good. Not unless one of them had tempted a busload of nuns to divert to a strip club or something.

“Unlikely,” he muttered to himself.

“What was that?” Beelzebub snapped, pale blue eyes boring into Crowley’s.

“Unlikable,” he said smoothly, with a slick grin designed to put her at ease. “The trip down here, not seeing you.”

“Right,” they said flatly. Clearing their throat, they went on, “Demon Crowley, do you know why you are here?”

“Not a clue,” Crowley replied, though his heart was beating faster. _Should have stopped that. Distracting._

“Don’t play the fool with us,” Hastur said, his voice harsh. “You know you’ve been up to no good!”

“Well yeah,” Crowley replied, “isn’t that why I’m up there?” He grinned, turning a little to work the crowd. “Fermenting discord and all that?” Sections of the crowd cheered and he grinned, turning back with raised eyebrows to the Duke of Hell.

“You’ve been up to a lot more than that,” Ligur continued. His dark eyes burned. “Lots of chances for a demon to break the rules up there,” he sneered. “Especially one that didn’t even Fall on purpose.”

The crowd made a noise at that, the ‘oooh!’ of surprise and delight running a shiver of unease down Crowley’s spine.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” He called over the noise. “Delivered the Antichrist, didn’t I?”

“How many souls have you delivered to our Lord?” Hastur said furiously, and would have continued if Beelzebub had not interrupted.

“This is not why you are here, Demon,” they said. “You know what you’ve been doing, and the King of Hell himsszelf is not pleasszed with you.” Their voice buzzed, the sibilance increasing with their excitement as it was wont to do.

 _Well, that’s not good,_ Crowley thought to himself. He swallowed, eyes darting around the room. “Is he here, then?” The false bravado that had served him well was holding up okay so far; he just hoped Lucifer wasn’t actually on his way. That would speak to very, very bad things indeed.

“He will not busszy himsszelf with the likessz of you,” Beelzebub replied. Their changed speech was irritating them, Crowley could see; they’d always hated how it happened when they couldn’t control it.

Hastur continued. “He has made his wishes on this matter clear, Crowley.”

“And what matter is that?” Crowley asked, wishing again he’d stopped that wretched heartbeat before now. It was thundering along, fast and hard and distracting as hell.

“The little matter of you and the angel,” Ligur said with malice in his voice. “Made a friend, have you Crawley?”

“It’s Crowley,” he retorted, “and what the Heaven are you talking about?”

“We know you’ve been working with the Principality,” Hastur said. “Got the information from a very reliable source.”

“Oh really,” Crowley said, swearing at himself in his head, “and who would that be?”

“Heaven’s above, I couldn’t say,” Beelzebub said, having finally gotten their excitement under control. It was still there in the smirk plastered across their face.

_Heaven. They must have Aziraphale, then._

_Very not good._

“Demon Crowley,” Beelzebub said officiously, “The King of Hell has decreed that you are to be expelled, to live on Earth until the end of days as a mortal.”

“A mortal?” Crowley repeated.

“He was very clear,” Beelzebub intoned, “No demonic powers, save immortality.” They very nearly grinned at him. “You’ll have all the time in the world to meet with your angel friend now, traitor.”


	2. Chapter 2

Crowley blinked in the light. It was always a bugger traveling that way. Hell was so dark, and Earth so very, very bright. Not that he’d have to worry about that any more.

He was a mortal, newly minted.

Hang on, even that was wrong.

He was an immortal human, newly minted.

_Not good._

One idea blazed through the mounting panic. He had to find Aziraphale. If Hell knew, Heaven certainly, did, and he had no idea what that officious Archangel would do when he found out Aziraphale had been lying to him for six millennia.

The bookshop was open, a mug of cocoa still warm where it stood in a patch of sunlight by a window. From what he could see, the angel had been standing here with his cocoa, and then…he wasn’t. Crawley couldn’t find a single sign of him anywhere in the whole place.

“Hello?” A voice came from the open door, and Crawley turned, full of hope that Aziraphale had returned.

It wasn’t him.

“Oh, hello, I was looking for-” the woman began.

“No,” Crowley said flatly. “We’re closed.”

“Oh, well, I was hoping to talk to-”

“We. Are. Closed.” Crowley said, very slowly and very rudely. “Go. Away.”

“I’ll come back tomorrow, will I?” the small woman said, and scurried out.

Closing the door, Crowley locked it fiercely. He was frightened, he admitted to himself. If he didn’t have his angel, there was exactly nobody on Earth – or anywhere else – that knew or cared anything about him. The only one even close to an exception was that dim-witted witchfinder, and he was only interested in getting paid. Crowley spent the evening pacing the bookshop, wondering why his stomach was increasingly painful. It wasn’t until dawn, his hands sore from clenching and unclenching all night, eyes burning, that Crowley remembered.

_Human means I have to take care of this body._

Sleep, food, water.

“How dull,” he said to himself. Well, if nothing else, Angel could be relied upon to have food of some kind.

As he munched on some kind of sweet biscuit, Crowley realised he’d need money if he wanted to get more food. He wondered briefly if ‘immortal’ actually meant ‘unable to die so it doesn’t matter if you don’t eat’, but the pain in his stomach was enough to make him acquiesce to its demands.

Food taken care of, he supposed some amount of water and sleep ought to keep his body running. Angel had mugs, all bearing angel wings or some other such nonsense, but he curled his lip and drank from them anyway before peering behind the curtain to find a prim looking bed. It was pretty narrow, but he doubted it mattered. Kicking off his boots, Crawley lay down, pulling the duvet up around himself.

It smelled like Aziraphale.

Not a bonus, as far as things went; despite his fatigue it was all he could think of now. Had Aziraphale been banned from Earth? Had he been discorporated too, or was there some other reason he wasn’t here? Without his demonic powers, there was no way easy way for Crawley to find out. He’d just have to be patient and resourceful. With a groan, he rolled over, pushing it out of his head until he fell into sleep.

A loud knocking on the door woke him, some hours later. It was insistent and very loud and annoying and he wished they would just go away. When it continued, he groaned, blinking as he pulled on his boots. It was daytime, apparently, just past noon according to Aziraphale’s carriage clock.

Crawley stalked over to the door, shoving his glasses on his face, wondering what the discomfort in his abdomen was about. He’d deal with this then try to figure that out. Corporeal bodies were annoyingly demanding, he thought as he unlocked the door.

“What?” he sighed.

It was the same lady as yesterday. “Hello,” she said brightly. “Might I come in?”

“Fine,” he said, stepping back. There seemed to be no getting rid of her, and it would be easier to deal with her now than have her keep popping up while he was trying to find Aziraphale.

“I was hoping to speak to Mr. Fell,” the woman said. “I’m Jessica Fletcher.”

“He’s not here,” Crowley said.

“Well I know that,” she said. “I saw him disappear yesterday, and I was hoping he could explain it to me.”

“You saw him what?” Crowley asked.

“Disappear. He was standing right there,” she pointed at the corner in which Crowley had found Aziraphale’s cocoa, “reading something, when he just…disappeared. The book is still on the floor, see?”

He looked, registering the book folded open on the floor. Very unlike Aziraphale to leave it there. This woman’s story was making more and more sense, and he was feeling alarm rise inside him.

“When you say he disappeared,” Crowley began, “did he just…stop being there? Or was it more of a gradual fade?”

She considered his question quite seriously given how ridiculous it must sound to a human. “It was fairly sudden,” she said, “but he looked up in surprise before he went so he must have felt something.”

“Right,” Crowley muttered. Sounded like Heaven had been involved after all.

“So he’s not back then?” Jessica asked.

“What? No, I dunno where he is,” Crowley replied distractedly.

“Well, when he does come back, be sure to let me know.” She tucked a small piece of paper under a copy of _The Lake House_ and smiled at him. “My guardian angel wants to know.”

“Your what?” Crowley said. This was a decidedly less Earthly conversation that he thought it might be.

“My guardian angel,” she said serenely. “They’re interested in making contact with Mr. Fell and asked me to come and speak with you.”

“Yeah, well tell your guardian angel Aziraphale is probably right up there in Heaven if he really wants a word,” Crowley snapped. “And if anyone cares, I’m stuck down here in a sodding human body!”

“Oh!” She said. “There is no need to be rude, Mister…”

“Crowley,” he replied. “I’m going back to bed,” he muttered. “Lock up when you leave, won’t you.”

***

Nervous. Aziraphale had lived a lot of his celestial life nervously, and this appeared to be just another in a long line of Heavenly experiences that made him fidget and stumble over his words.

“Hello?” he said, peering past the lectern that marked the entry to the Guardians’ floor. It was the lowest of the floors of Heaven, of course. Not only were Guardians ranked lowest of all the angels, they needed access to and from Earth more often. That was the reason given, at any rate.

Aziraphale had never been this far down. He was used to bright light and endless clouds out of the windows. Here, there were clouds of course, but they more often matched the various shades of grey so common on Earth. He wondered if Guardian Angels found it comforting. He supposed he would have to get used to it.

“You must be Aziraphale,” an angel said, smiling at him. “Welcome to the Guardians.”

He was nicer than Aziraphale had expected, given the way he’d been summarily ejected from the upper floors. “Pleased to meet you,” Aziraphale replied. He hesitated. “Might I know your name?”

“We are not assigned names,” the angel replied, “but some call me Jahaziel.”

“Beholden by God,” Aziraphale recalled. “Very well. Thank you for meeting me. I’m not exactly sure what I am meant to do.”

He held his breath, waiting for a sneer, a nasty tone all too ready to rebuke him for not being perfect.

“Of course not, you’ve only just arrived,” they said. “Please, come with me, and I’ll have one of our more experienced Guardians talk you through it.” Jahaziel smiled, walking with Aziraphale past small groups and pairs of guardians talking quietly in the open space. “One of our angels has volunteered in fact. He has been serving the same human for over seventy Earth years.”

“Imagine that,” Aziraphale managed. The pair approached a small figure with a wide smile and kind eyes. He bowed to Jahaziel before turning to Aziraphale.

“Pleased to meet you,” he said. “Welcome to the Guardians.”

“Thank you,” Aziraphale replied, still unsure of the expected behaviour.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Jahaziel murmured.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said.

“Anytime.” Something in the way it was said made Aziraphale feel that they really meant it.

“Shall we begin?” the small angel asked.

“Actually, might I have a moment?” Aziraphale asked. “I just need…a moment to think.”

“Of course,” the angel replied. “Come and find me when you’re ready.”

Aziraphale smiled a little in thanks, then walked over to one of the windows. He was closer to Earth here, and further from God; he could feel the difference even a few floors below. Oddly enough, although this place was not the way he thought of Heaven looking – greyish clouds, a lot of angels grouped together – it felt a lot more the way he’d always thought Heaven should feel. Everyone seemed a lot nicer than he was used to. They smiled at each other, and not in the ‘I’m humouring you’ kind of way he expected from the upper floors.

If only he’d been assigned here from the start, he thought. Imagine if this was my experience instead? Instead of the belittling comments and impatience, the questioning of the Plan, the difficulty in making choices.

Instead of meeting Crowley.

Aziraphale felt sick at remembering his demon. He might never have met Crowley. Someone else would have been sent to Guard the Gate, and he would have been up here, encouraging people to do the right thing on a more personal level instead. The Antichrist would have still been born, and they would still be marking time before Armageddon, but it would all be someone else’s problem.

And he would never have met Crowley.

That idea seemed to override all the other factors. Looking out at the clouds, Aziraphale wondered what Crowley was doing. Was he even still alive? If Heaven had known about them, Hell certainly would have too, and it was very likely Crowley had been…disciplined. What was it he said? Back in the Bastille, they had been talking about it.

_My lot do not send rude notes._

Images came to Aziraphale. He’d seen demons, once or twice, in their true forms. They didn’t seem to be able to hide as efficiently as Crowley did, though perhaps that was as much personal choice as practice. He could only imagine Crowley, dragged back down to hell, facing a group of demons as they decided his fate. A deep pit for all eternity? Stuck in hell, doing some meaningless task forever like Sisyphus? He shuddered at the thought. Either way, the angel thought sadly, the likelihood of us seeing each other again is very slim.

“Oh Crowley,” Aziraphale murmured to himself. “I do hope you’re alright.”


	3. Chapter 3

Crowley was very far from alright, if he was being honest with himself. This body was a nightmare when he didn’t have the benefit of casual miracles to keep it running. He had to sleep every night, for hours and hours, and not only did it demand both food and drink on a regular basis, but he’d discovered the cause of the discomfort he was feeling when that woman dropped in. It was related to the process of getting rid of his body’s waste and was close to the most disgusting things he’d ever experienced in his life – and he’d been up close and personal with the Prince of Hell, in all their festering glory.

Now that he was out of food, and people still came past to ask him about books, Crawley had given up locking the door. People came in, gave him money, and took books. That was how it was meant to work, he was sure, but there was another thing he wanted. It was all he thought about, actually, the only thing he could imagine making this whole nightmare bearable, and there was no way to figure it out without help. There was only one person he could think of to ask, so with a nervous stomach and look of distaste on his face, Crawley rang Jessica Fletcher.

“I need advice,” he told her bluntly.

“I’ll be down this afternoon,” she told him.

He paced restlessly again, scratching at his itchy chin, until she arrived.

“You’re late,” he said accusingly.

“We didn’t set a time,” she told him. “Now, you wanted help?”

“Advice, I said advice,” Crowley replied.

“That’s what my husband said when he meant help,” she told him. “Foolish man.”

“Oh spare me the memories,” Crowley sneered. “I’m not your average man.”

“Of course not,” she said in a maddeningly condescending manner.

“You know how you saw Aziraphale disappear?” Crawley said impatiently.

“Yes.”

“Right before your eyes? Just vanished, poof!” Crowley said, deliberately theatrical.

“Yes,” she said again, patiently.

“Well that was Heaven sucking him back home because he’d become friends with a demon. That’s me, by the way, or it used to be, until my lot decided they didn’t want an angel-befriending traitor in their midst and now I’m human!”

Jessica looked at him, blinking, and Crowley didn’t breathe. He hadn’t meant to be quite so blunt about what had happened, but his face itched, and he was hungry, and he had no idea how to get hold of Aziraphale if he was now stuck in Heaven.

“And now he’s in Heaven, and you want help to get in touch?” Jessica asked.

“No!” Crowley snapped automatically. “Yes! He’s in Heaven, and I’m itchy!” He scratched aggressively in demonstration.

“Ah,” she said in understanding. “You don’t really know how to do human, do you?”

“No,” Crowley admitted.

“Well, I can ask my Guardian angel to keep a look out if you like. What did you say your friend’s name was?”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley replied faintly. Was he really being offered help from a human? In contacting Heaven? He shook his head in disbelief.

“Right, well, you sit tight and I’ll go and buy you some biscuits and a razor. I’ll be right back,” Jessica said, bustling out.

“She’ll ask her Guardian angel,” Crowley muttered sarcastically to himself.

From what he could remember of the Guardians, they were the lowest order of angels. Things had probably changed – or maybe not – but he’d never seen a Guardian on any of the upper floors, and Aziraphale was a Principality. He’d have no reason to be on the lower floors. Assuming he was still a Principality at all. Crowley had no idea how things worked up there, but from what he’d seen when Aziraphale talked about the Archangels, there was no love lost there. He suspected if Aziraphale had actually been punished it would be as cruel and unusual as Gabriel and the others could come up with. And that was without factoring God into the equation. She hadn’t kicked anyone out of Heaven for a long, long time, and with the War on the horizon, she might be reluctant to, but if Aziraphale had Fallen, Crowley wouldn’t know about that, either. He was as unwelcome in Hell as in Heaven these days.

“Well, Angel,” Crowley muttered, “I think we’re on our own, now.”

***

“So each Guardian is assigned a human,” Aziraphale summarised, “and it’s up to them how involved they are in that human’s life.”

“Correct,” the angel helping him replied. “Most angels have more than one human on their roster at any given time. Technically, you are to guide them towards the Light, towards good choices.” He tilted his head. “Some angels chose to work more subtly, others use a direct approach. It depends on both the angel and the human. Some are more stubborn than others.”

“Right,” Aziraphale said. “So, am I to be assigned to some humans, then?”

“We’ll start with just one, I think,” the angel said. He smiled at Aziraphale. “You look nervous. Do you have any other questions?”

“N…No,” Aziraphale said after some thought.

“You are an experienced angel,” the angel said encouragingly. “This is no different to being on Earth and guiding people from there.”

“I wasn’t expected to make decisions when I was on Earth,” Aziraphale said without thinking. “Just do as I was told.”

“Well, given our lowly status,” the angel said with some humour, “we are given a little more leeway in the decision making department.”

“Lovely,” Aziraphale said faintly.

“In fact,” the angel said, and his tone of voice now leaned heavily towards ‘conspiratorial’, “I happen to be at liberty to assign you to any new human I chose.”

“Any new human?” Aziraphale repeated. “Do only new humans get assigned angels?”

“Of course,” the angel replied. “Most of the time, they’re infants and require little guidance for a number of years. That would give you time to observe others before your own human is ready to make decisions.”

“Most of the time?” Aziraphale replied.

“It happens that…someone I know,” the angel said, with significant emphasis on the last three words, “has met one of the most recent new humans. Actually, this isn’t the start.” He paused for a moment, thinking. “I have been a Guardian for a long time, and I must admit to being an admirer of your work.”

“Thank you,” Aziraphale replied cautiously.

“I may have guided one of my humans into your sphere, if you like,” he admitted. “I work with her in a more explicit capacity. She has a very open mind, you see. Well she was walking by your bookshop recently and actually witnessed you vanish.”

“I vanished?” Aziraphale repeated.

“I guided her to find you, but your shop was empty, so she returned the following day. A very rude man kicked her out, so she returned again, not taking no for an answer. She explained what she’d seen, and told him that I’d very much like to speak to you when you returned. She left her number for him.”

“A very rude man?” Aziraphale repeated again, his brain racing to keep up with the story.

“Yes. And when she pointed out that I wanted to speak to her, he said this.” The angel turned his face down for a moment before channelling another voice.

“Yeah, well tell your guardian angel Aziraphale is probably right up there in Heaven if he really wants a word. And if anyone cares, I’m stuck down here in a sodding human body!”

Crowley’s voice was quiet, but the emotion behind it was raw and shocking.

“Stuck down there?” Aziraphale whispered. “Crowley.”

“Yes, that’s what he said his name was,” the angel said in his regular voice.

“Wait a minute,” Aziraphale said. “If he’s in a human body, he’s human, and very very new, so…” he looked hopefully at the angel.

“Yep,” the angel said. “As your assignment has been placed at my discretion, I can assign you to this very new human if you like.”

“But he’s a demon,” Aziraphale realised, the hope fading from him again.

“Not any more,” the angel corrected him. “He’s human. There is a strong aura of evil, but that’s to be expected. We’ve had it analysed, of course.”

“And?” Aziraphale asked, heart in his mouth.

“Someone has made him immortal,” the angel said. “Someone with connections to Hell, at least.”

“But he’s human. Enough to pass…” he glanced up, not even wanting to say their names.

“Even for them,” the angel assured Aziraphale. “In fact, the need for this human to have a Guardian is even stronger, given his aura.” He smiled at Aziraphale. “He’ll need a strong presence with him, I would say.”

“A strong presence,” Aziraphale repeated. He frowned a little, leaning forward. “How strong are we talking?”


	4. Chapter 4

Shaving was the kind of thing he should have invented, Crowley thought. Definitely would have taken credit if I’d know how bloody awful it was. Right up my alley, having to do this horrendous thing to your face just about every day.

“Ow!” he spat, pressing the spot just under his jaw.

“Take your time,” Jessica told him, smiling as he scowled at her. “It takes practice, remember.”

“Yes, I know,” he muttered.

Finally, he was done.

“Well?” he said.

“A very nice job. Now, I’ve left you with more shaving cream and razors. Of course you could always go into a barber, but that costs money. Which brings me to my next point.”

Crowley, wiping his face with a towel, was only half listening. Money was boring. Except that he didn’t have any.

“This bookshop is very well known. Mister Fell has worked hard to make it successful, and I think the least you can do is see that it keeps running.”

“Do I look like someone that runs a bookshop?” Crowley protested.

“It takes all sorts, as my wife used to say,” she said serenely.

“Hang on, I thought you had a husband?” Crowley pointed out.

“I did,” she said. “I had both. Not at the same time, of course, but still.” She cleared her throat. “If you run this place sensibly, you will have more than enough money to live off. There is a Whole Foods around the corner, they sell everything you need.” She fixed him with a steely look. “Now stop moping around and go and have a shower.”

“A shower,” he whined. This body was definitely a nightmare. “Who do I need to shower for, anyway?”

“Did you even look at your hair in the mirror?” Jessica asked him. “You look like a hurricane has gone through here.” She piled him up with a towel, soap and a pile of other things. “Go on, I’ll wait.”

“Fine,” he sighed. This woman was more trouble than she was worth, he grumbled to himself, although he didn’t really mean it. The idea of keeping the bookshop running was kind of appealing. If Aziraphale came back, he’d be happy to see it still going, right? He loved this place, though Crowley had no idea why. And if it could stop him starving to…well, the end of time, then all the better.

Keeping that in mind, Crowley showered and dressed in the clothes she’d brought him. The jeans were a little baggier than he liked, but the shirt was a good fit and his waistcoat over the top looked great. He styled his hair – so much harder without a miracle – and eventually, it worked.

“Okay, I’m ready to be a bookshop guy,” Crowley said with all the distain he could muster.

“You look lovely,” Jessica told him. She swatted at him when he snored in reply, then added, “Don’t forget, you’re doing this for Mister Fell. Be polite to people, won’t you?”

“Yeah,” he sighed.

“Trust me, this could be a very good day for you,” she said. A wide smile broke over her face. “My guardian angel says so.”

“Yeah, I’m sure he does,” Crowley muttered as she left. “Crackpot.”

He turned to look at the dark, dusty interior, then turned back and flipped the ‘closed’ sign to ‘open’. Best get on with it if he was to keep the shop going for his angel.

***

“So I just…” Aziraphale waved one hand downwards. “Fly on down?”

“Not quite fly,” the angel replied. He frowned. “It’s more like, think about where you want to be, and you’ll arrive. When you get there, you can control how visible you are. Generally angels go for invisible and gentle guidance if they’re wanting to be less conspicuous, or you can go full ‘I’m here to tell you about the birth of Christ’.”

“That didn’t go down too well, if I recall,” Aziraphale said, trying to ease his discomfort.

“Probably best not to attract attention from anywhere,” the angel said, casting his eyes upwards. “But you should know…some angels spend almost all their time on Earth. If they have a particularly difficult human, for example.” His eyes were warm, and for the first time in a long time, Aziraphale felt joy and comfort while he was in Heaven.

“Noted,” Aziraphale said. He peered down, and swallowed hard. “Wish me luck,” he said.

“Good luck,” the angel said. “I hope your human is open to celestial guidance.”

“So do I,” Aziraphale replied. He closed his eyes, pictured the inside of the bookshop, and jumped.

The sound was the first thing he noticed. It was a particular kind of quiet, accompanied by the…there it was, the smell of old books and papers. Checking to be sure he was invisible, Aziraphale carefully opened his eyes.

It was the bookshop. His bookshop. Night time, judging from the darkened windows. And the door was closed and locked, and he could smell…oven chips?

Someone was in here, humming something in his kitchen. Moving carefully, Aziraphale made his way over to the kitchen. He was kind of gliding, and it took a little practice. Fortunately he didn’t bump into things, so much as kind of swirl through them. It was an uncomfortable sensation, nevertheless.

“Can anybody find meeeeeeeeee,” the voice sang, “somebody to love!”

A flourish, and a tray of oven chips was pulled out and placed on the stovetop.

“Crawley,” Aziraphale breathed. It was true – the demon was no longer of Hell, Aziraphale could feel it. His newfound status as Guardian had its drawbacks, but as his mentor angel had said, he was so much more attuned to Crawley than he had ever been. The new human’s aura was bright around him, streaks of brash red showing the evil surrounding his soul, but Aziraphale could also feel his mood.

He was…less happy than the cheerful singing would imply, actually. Aziraphale explored the complex waves coming off the human before him. There was a level of positivity, but it was forced, not natural. The main emotion was sadness, Aziraphale was astonished to feel. Was it the loss of his demonic powers? He certainly looked well enough, clean shaven and well fed, if the oven chips were anything to go by.

With a deep breath, Aziraphale tried to guide Crowley to do something. It didn’t take a lot; all of a sudden he was making cocoa in Aziraphale’s favourite mug.

“Why did I do that?” Crowley asked himself, staring at the cocoa. “Angel won’t be happy if you’re messing up his things.”

“I don’t mind,” Aziraphale couldn’t help correcting him.

The mug dropped, a wave of cocoa splashing out in slow motion until Aziraphale stopped it.

“Angel?” Crowley whispered.

“It’s me,” Aziraphale replied. He miracled his mug clean and away, sending the cocoa into the sink instead.

“Are you there?” Crowley asked. “I can’t see you.”

Another deep breath, and Aziraphale slowly relaxed his invisibility until he was standing at the far end of the kitchen.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hi,” Crowley managed. He looked like he might cry, Aziraphale thought. And he was happy. Actually, genuinely happy. It radiated off him in waves, enveloping Aziraphale, swirling around him.

“I’m your new guardian angel,” Aziraphale said, “since you’re human now and everything.”

“Oh,” Crawley said. “I didn’t think I’d qualify.”

“I think one of your human friends asked their Guardian to look out for me,” Aziraphale said. “It seems I’ve been assigned to only one human. Until I get the hang of it.”

“Oh?” Crawley said again. “And when will that be?”

“Until he dies, I think,” Aziraphale said. “Until then, I’ve been reliably informed that I can spend all my time on Earth, guiding that human, if I need to.”

“Really,” Crowley said. A smile was starting to draw across his face as he considered the implications of that comment.

“Yes,” Aziraphale replied. “I’ve grown quite fond of Earth over the last six millennia.”

He wasn’t talking about the Earth, and both he and the recently-ex-demon knew it.

“Me too,” Crowley said with a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus it ends! I see this as the end of their journey - two souls spending eternity together. I hoped you've enjoyed it.


End file.
